An old silver-haired man at the end of the bar raised his hand and Bart walked over and passed him another beer. “Harvey, I might as well let you have my job. You're here more than I am.”

  “No way,” Harvey slurred. “I've been on this side of the bar for near 'bout sixty-five years and I ain't got no intention of changin' now, thankyouverymuch.”

  Bart shook his head and continued the nightly wipe-down. In the back of the club, Ray walked down a narrow corridor and stopped outside of Garnett's dressing room. What on earth was he thinking? What was he going to go in there and say? It had been well over twenty years since he'd last seen her. It had been Garnett that had caused all of the bad blood between him and J.R. Ironically enough, tonight she had stopped their fight. He raised his hand to knock, but then he let it fall back to his side. He couldn't just barge in without some idea of what he wanted to say to her, but that was exactly what he did.

  After two knocks, she answered the door and Ray found himself face-to-face with her. Her auburn hair fell down over her shoulders and she looked even more beautiful than she had all those years ago. “Ray Krebbs…”

  Ray let himself smile. “Garnett McGee.”

  Garnett stepped back and waved Ray into her dressing room. “Looks like wine isn't the only thing that gets better with age,” she commented. “Do you hang out at the Cattleman's often?”

  “Well, you might say that. I own the place.”

  “You're pullin' my leg?”

  Ray shook his head. It was kind of funny how quickly he'd lost his uneasiness with her. Usually it took him a long time to warm back up to someone he hadn't seen in years, but with her it was different. “Nope. I bought it a couple of years ago and reopened it. I've been out of town for a while and I let Bart run the place.”

  “Yeah, he hired me.”

  “I couldn't have done a better job myself. So where've you been all these years Garnett? And why are you callin' yourself Morgan now?”

  Garnett smiled. “Twenty years took me all around the country. I spent a long time in Nashville, tryin' to make it big but it never happened. I fell in with a lot of people there that made a lot of promises, but none of them panned out. I've just been back in Dallas for about a month now. And as for Morgan, well, that's just a stage name I came up with. What about you? How good were those two decades to you?”

  “Pretty good, I'd say. I've got a nice piece of land, a few head of cattle…”

  “A nice wife?”

  Ray nodded. “A real nice wife.”

  “I assumed that's who she was. What's her name?”

  “Donna.”

  “Got kids?”

  Again, Ray nodded. “Yep. Two of em. A son named Lucas and a daughter named Margaret. I wouldn't trade them for anything in this world.”

  “I'd have never pictured you as a family man Ray Krebbs…not the type to settle down with a wife and have a few kids.” Garnett laughed and then she began to brush her hair. It was followed by a brief uneasy silence.

  “Well, neither did I, but strange things happen when you fall in love.”

  “Wild horses can be tamed. Looks like Miss Donna did a pretty good job with you.”

  Ray glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. “Speaking of Donna, I really need to get back to city hall to pick her up. I dropped her off so she could finish up some work and I'm supposed to be back there at eleven.”

  “City hall?”

  “She's the mayor.”

  “You keep surprising me Ray. Are you into politics too?”

  Ray laughed. “Oh no, not me.”

  Garnett stood up and followed Ray to the door. “Well I can't begin to tell you what a pleasant surprise this was, to find out that I'm now workin' for you. I guess we'll be seein' a lot more of each other now?”

  Ray stopped in the doorway. “Yep, I guess we will.”

Klaus Streiberg strode past him briskly with two other men dressed in black.

Klaus looked to the man on his left. "What floor is this man on?"

"The ninth, Herr Streiberg."

Klaus nodded, and punched the button for the elevator.

George looked at them. Must be more new owners, he mused. George had been with the building since the Seventies, and recently, there had been a string of them. George kept pictures of himself with the security staff, and every once and awhile, he got one with himself and the owners. He looked to the small row of pictures taped to the inside of his desk, next to pictures of his wife.

Guess the old building still has some life in it, he thought as the doors shut.

"Herr Streiberg, why does Morningstar Investments want THIS building? It is old, dilapidated, and from what I hear, nearing demolition.” the man on his left asked.

Streiberg looked his lackey in the eye. "Hans, I will ask you to be silent. I have my plans, and you have your orders." He looked to the man on his right and asked, "Gunther. Have you the papers?"

Gunther nodded as the doors opened at floor 9.

The lights on floor nine were flickering overhead. The wallpaper was in need of redoing…the whole floor needed work. Klaus suspected that the very structure of the building might need it as well.

Klaus and his men passed the receptionist, who was sleeping at her desk, and opened the door to the office behind her. A man was reading the newspaper with his feet on the desk. He looked over the paper at them, and then resumed his reading.

"Check's in the mail, boys. I have ownership of this building for another month."

Klaus looked to Gunther and nodded. Gunther walked over to the man, grabbed his papers, and knocked his feet off the desk. He glared and grabbed the nameplate off the desk, tossing it to Hans.

"Jack Barrington," Hans read. "Mr. Barrington, Mr. Streiberg wishes to have words with you about your operations. Please give us your attention."

"What do you want? You boys don't sound much like any Texans I ever heard." Barrington drawled. He was uneasy around these men already. And though he didn't know it yet, he had good reason to be. Gunther was standing directly next to him.

Klaus smiled and laughed in a friendly way. "I do not mean to unnerve you, sir. Let me cut to the chase. I wish to purchase your building. I know that you are in deep financial trouble, and I know that the state of this building is not what it could be. I wish to help you."

Barrington's heart soared at these words. He tried to be calm.

"Well, I don't know. This is a family building. I don't know if I can part with it - -"

"Jack… may I call you Jack? This is not something I feel I can bargain with. This may, indeed be a family building, just not your family."

Barrington grimaced. He was smart, this German, or whatever he was. He decided to take the money and run.

"Okay, okay. How much?"

Klaus looked to Gunther, who reached into his suit pocket. Barrington was suddenly very frightened. Gunther pulled a cashier's check out of his pocket, and handed it to him.

Barrington looked it over. It was extremely fair, and included enough money to pay off the bank. Klaus dropped two documents on the desk.

"Mr. Barrington, just sign these papers, and that cashiers check is all yours."

Jack quickly signed the papers and looked up to Streiberg. "You don't know what a relief this is. Thank you so much, Mr…."

"Forget my name, Mr. Barrington. I advise you not to buy a skyscraper again, unless you have the proper funding though," he said. Gunther and Hans chuckled as they prepared to cut this extremely short deal even shorter.

Barrington mustered a smile. "Hey, it's your problem now, friend. This building needs a lot of work, I'll tell ya!"

Klaus smirked. "We have time. Good day, Mr. Barrington. My company takes this building into receivership in seven days. I ask you to be gone by then."

The men exited, and Barrington wondered just why someone would come from Switzerland to buy THIS building, out of all of the high-rises in Dallas. Oh well. Not HIS problem anymore.

Klaus and his men rode back down in the elevator. Hans looked to Klaus. "Herr Streiberg. I must know. This building is of strategic importance to us, obviously. Let me ask. Is it revenge?"

Klaus smiled as they walked out of the elevator and across the lobby. "Yes, Hans. It is revenge. I'm afraid that I will not be involved with it, however. We return to Switzerland shortly. I have…someone…who is well acquainted with Dallas, and…." he smiled at George as he stood by the large logo of Barrington Enterprises in the lobby. “…And someone who knows the history of this building very well."

Klaus ripped the sign off the wall, and Gunther took it out the door.

George looked at them again as they walked by his desk.

"Oh, well. I guess we'll have something interesting around here soon. Ol' George just knows it." he said to himself.

George opened his desk, and at his pictures again. He looked at pictures of him and his friends, the pictures of his wife, and the picture of himself with Jock Ewing in 1978. That was the day the old man made him Security chief of the building. George sure missed working for people that knew how to treat employees. Those Ewings were great people to work for.

"Yes sir. Something mighty big may be happenin' around here again!"

  He cringed when he heard a dry rattle from somewhere off in the grass and he quickly ran to the safety of the front porch, but he had to sidestep to avoid stepping on a large black scorpion. “Good God, give me the city life any day,” he muttered as he knocked on the front door.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Jack Ewing answered the door. “Eric? What are you doing here?”

  Eric glanced back over his shoulder. “Mind if I come in?”

  Jack stood back and Eric quickly walked into the living room, thankful to be out of the Arizona heat. A ceiling fan slowly turned and gave off a low monotonous hum. Eric took a seat on the couch and Jack sat in the chair opposite it. “So, you gonna answer my question?”

  Eric reached into his back pocket and pulled out a newspaper. “Just in case you haven't heard about this already.”

  Jack's brow furrowed as he took the newspaper and began to read. “The Clifford Group is on the verge of a collapse?” Jack shook his head. “It's just like Cliff to get into something like this without consulting the stockholders. Even I could tell you that there's no way he could supply that much oil, that quick.”

  “You only hold five-percent stock in the company,” Eric reminded him.

  “Five percent is a lot in a company the size of the Clifford Group. It was enough to buy this nice ranch house and piece of land for me and Jamie.” Jack glanced back down at the newspaper. “But it'll be worthless if the company goes under.”

  “You're right about that.”

  Jack nodded. “You didn't come all the way out here just to show me that newspaper though. So tell me, what do you want?”

  “I want your stock,” Eric said, matter-of-factly.

  “Okay, the company's going under and you want to take my stock off my hands?”

  “You got it. I've got the money to burn, but more importantly, I want to prove myself to my father. I already helped him out one time, but apparently that wasn't enough. He's still holding grudges against me because of something stupid I did. Even if the company files for bankruptcy, I'll still hold a part of it.”

  “That doesn't make much sense to me.”

  “Call it a personal mission. Seriously Jack, what good is that five-percent doing you? I've got a check here with your name on it that will pay instant dividends and then you'll be free of the company.”

  “Why do I smell something fishy with all of this?” Jack asked.

  “Maybe because Cliff Barnes is my father, and you don't trust him? But let me assure you, I'm nothing like my father. I just want to do this for myself and help you out along the way.”

  Jack scratched his chin and stood up. “Why don't we further discuss this in the kitchen, over a nice cold beer?”

  Eric smiled and followed him into the kitchen. This was perfect. Nothing like a few drinks to let down a person's inhibitions. Eric had a feeling that before the morning was over, he'd be the proud owner of five-percent of his father's company. After all, Eric might have seen the newspaper, but he hadn't seen Newsweek.

Dent had picked her up at another of his Gala dinners earlier that night. She was a Senior in College, and the daughter of a prominent Dallas attorney. Dent always enjoyed making connections to the right people.

"So I told him, 'Senator, I don't give a damn whether your daughter likes it or not, that tie makes you look like you bought the suit at Sears!'"

The young lady giggled even harder. "Stephen! You simply did not! What did he say?"

Dent kissed down her neck. "Sidra, do you want to brush up on Government class…or Advanced Anatomy?" He wrapped his arms around her, and pressed her against the wall. She untied his bow tie, and was working on his belt when the two heard a noise in one of the back rooms.

Sidra jumped. "What if it's a burglar?", she said in a frantic whisper.

Dent wasn't worried about an intruder, he was more annoyed his plans for the night were being disrupted than anything else. He reached into one of the cabinets near the door, and pulled out a pistol.

"Stay here, darling. Let me handle the pest control." He stalked to the end of the hallway, and found that a light was on under the door to his room. He kicked the door open very hard.

He looked at the men inside. "What in the hell do you want?", he said in a raised voice, training his gun at the older man's head.

"Why don't you send the skirt out, Dent? We have business."

Dent tucked the gun into his cumber bund, and walked to the very frightened Sidra, who was looking intently down the hallway.

"Sidra, Darling. I'm afraid I have to cut the evening short. I have something to take care of." He kissed her trembling lips softly, and sent her out the door. "Don't tell anyone about this. I'll explain it all tomorrow. Tell the security guard at the front doors to call a taxi for you." He flashed his grin at her, and Sidra walked down the hall, obediently. She looked back with a brave smile.

"Do what you have to. Be careful."

Dent smiled as he shut the door. Smart girl - definitely a keeper, he thought.

Dent stormed back down the hallway, and looked into his room, aiming the pistol at the older man. They were tearing his room apart, obviously looking for something.

"You have some nerve coming in here."

"Don't give me that crap!" Carter McKay bellowed. "I want to know what JR has on you, for you to take orders from him!"

"McKay. I don't work for JR Ewing. I don't need to explain anything to you. Get out, or you're about to have your brains blown out – if you have any, that is. " He looked to the taller, younger man. "You too."

The mystery man flashed a badge at Dent. "What was that, son? Did you threaten an officer of the law?"

Dent didn't blink. "I warn you. Get out now. My employer has no qualms with me killing you."

The policeman pulled a second gun and aimed it at Dent. "I say that you better drop that gun."

Dent dropped it. "McKay, I don't know what you think this is going to accomplish."

"Dent, it accomplishes many things!", McKay said with a large grin. "Why, I have either a dead shakedown artist, or a link to West Star, and maybe JR Ewing. I'd say that I have all the cards right now."

Dent frowned. "McKay. I do not work for JR Ewing or Ewing Oil. I have never even met Mr. Ewing."

“Then who WAS interested in my West Star stock? Who put together that DAMN FILE??!!" McKay roared.

Dent smirked. "McKay, how in the hell did you ever get so powerful? You have the worst temper I've ever seen. You are a joke."

McKay's cop threw a powerful uppercut into Dent's jaw, knocking him to the ground. He glared at McKay and his goon. He knocked Dent just where he needed to be.

"Mr. McKay, I'm giving you one minute to get out."

"That's right, fancy boy. You've had us outgunned all along, right?" the cop sneered.

Dent grabbed the shotgun under his bed, and aimed it at the cop.

“Seems like I did." Dent slowly rose, and aimed the gun at the nameless cop. "Drop the guns. NOW."

The cop dropped the guns at once. McKay looked very uneasy all of a sudden.

"McKay, get out now."

"You tell JR this isn't over! I'll get Ewing Oil away from him yet! He needs to learn that - -"

Dent shot the cop through the knee with the shotgun, and glared at McKay as the officer dropped to the ground, screaming.

McKay was speechless.

"I'm kind of sick of you, McKay. You're a third rate Jeremy Wendell. The difference is, he's a man who people don't laugh at behind his back."

"So it was Wendell? I'll TEAR HIM IN HALF! I'll show him - -" Behind him, the officer was trying to crawl to reach his gun. Dent shot the cop's other knee, as he wailed even louder now. Tears were streaming down his face.

"If I'm not afraid to shoot a crooked cop, you'd better believe an ex-oilman who everyone hates wouldn't make me think twice. Your time is up." McKay helped the bleeding cop out the door. Dent got in their faces.

"Stay out of my home, and Officer, sir? Be glad your boss has enough money to get you patched up. McKay, if this incident ever gets out, everyone in Dallas is going to have your file with the morning paper."

McKay glared at Dent, and helped the bleeding cop out.

Dent watched the door close, and grabbed his phone.

"Herr Streiberg? I have a problem…Yes sir; it's McKay…In my apartment… yes… No…I shot one of his cops in the knee, though. Security may be a problem…yes."

Streiberg asked a barrage of questions, which Dent answered as quickly as they were asked.

"I basically told him that Wendell was my boss,” he said as he rubbed his eyes. "Thank you, sir. Your plan was flawless. So who do I talk to about the new phase?"

"Stephen," Klaus said, "I am returning to Switzerland very soon. Your new contact with Morningstar is a Texan you may have heard of."

Dent waited. And waited a second longer. "What's his name?"

"Vaughn Leland." Klaus replied, and then hung up.

Stephen Dent cradled the phone in his hand as he looked to the Dallas skyline. What in the hell had he gotten himself into?

“...J.R., this is Sarah McDougal returning your call...I'd like to meet sometimes this week if you have a spare lunch...”

“...Hello Mr. Ewing, this is Carlton Beckley, I was calling to let you know there will be an information meeting on Project Guinea this Wednesday at 6pm at the Reunion Hotel...”

“...did you know you can save 80 cents a call on long distance by dialing 1-800...”

J.R. flicked off the machine and made a mental note to return Sarah McDougal's call. As he jotted down the date and place of the Guinea meeting in his daybook, he was startled by a knock at the door. “Come in,” he instructed.

A tall, white haired man entered with his briefcase. “You have a fondness for late-night meetings?” He asked.

“Well, I couldn't exactly come to your office, and you wouldn't believe how hard it is nowadays to get Sue Ellen out of the office for five minutes. Sit down, Congressman.”

The politician sat down and snapped open his attaché case. He removed the sole document and handed it to J.R. “That's the final list; Ewing Oil was the last to sign on. I did what I could with the others.”

J.R. glanced at the page-long list. “West Star, TulsaCo, O.K. Oil, The Clifford Group, Alaskan Crude, Petro Gulf, Stackhouse Oil, and Ewing Oil,” he read aloud. “Not bad...not bad at all, Ted. If you keep up the good work, I may even consider voting for you next election.”

He grinned, prompting an uneasy smile from Ted. “I wasn't able to get Stackhouse and O.K. off the list,” he explained. “They'd already signed by the time you contacted me...we did, however, withdraw our invitations from Stonehurst, Harwood...”

“Good...” J.R. answered. “I work alone.” He skimmed through the list one last time. “So what's next on the agenda? Apparently there's a meeting later in the week between all the companies involved?” “Yes...” Ted answered. “But, I've been hearing rumblings that the Democrats may force a senate investigation into this project...I haven't been able to confirm it, but some of the top dogs in the party are gearing up for a fight.”

J.R. didn't seem surprised. “Well, you're a Democrat, aren't you? There's a reason I chose you instead of one of my Republican goons,” he said. “It's up to you to put a stop to things like this, and don't give me any of that 'I'm just a congressman' nonsense. You're a senior member of the party, and I know you've got clout. When people think of politics in this state, they think Ted Hathaway.”

“Alright then...hypothetically, if I'm unable to get the investigation stopped, then what?”

“Then I bring in my Republican buddies and get a stop put to it before it even reaches the House floor. And if it should somehow make it there, I've got a backup plan. You just do what you can, and your secret is safe with me, Hathaway.”

“I'll do my best...we have a committee meeting tomorrow and then I have a dinner date with some of the members of the DNC, I'll get back to you when I know more. But if I were you, I'd be prepared for a full investigation of your books...if you've got anything to hide, and I suspect you do, you better do a damn good job hiding it, and you had better start now.”

Finally, the elevator door slid open and she found herself in Hal Huprich's suite of offices. The receptionist looked up as she approached.

“Michelle Stevens.”

“I'm sorry, what was that?”

Michelle rolled her eyes impatiently. “I said, I'm Michelle Stevens.”

Behind her, another elevator door had opened and Lucy had walked up behind her. With an impatient roll of her eyes, Lucy stepped around her. “She means she's here for the reading of the Foster will.”

“Oh… okay. Will you please come with me?”

Michelle quickly moved in front of Lucy and they both followed the girl to Mr. Huprich's office. The attorney greeted them at the door.

“Ladies, please come in. I'm Hal Huprich. Please, have a seat.”

Michelle positioned herself in one of two chairs directly in front of Hal's desk, while Lucy headed for the couch toward the back of the room. As she walked by Michelle, she whispered. “I don't think sitting closer is going to help you get what you're after.”

Michelle sneered. “Why are you here anyway, Lucy? What did you have to do with Todd? Get tired of the hubby?” Satisfied with her little barb, Michelle sat back and elegantly crossed her legs.

Lucy stopped dead in her tracks. She wheeled around and with one swift kick she sent Michelle's chair toppling to the floor. Michelle screamed and Hal turned around just in time to see Michelle sitting on the floor attempting to pull herself out from under the chair. Hal looked at Lucy who was now looking at Michelle in faux amazement. “You really should be more careful, you might get hurt.”

Hal quickly moved to help Michelle to her feet. “Ms. Stevens, are you all right?”

Michelle waved him off and stood up on her own. Instead of picking up the chair or waiting for him to do it for her, she simply sat down in the other chair in front of Hal's desk.

Hal picked up the chair and sat it back in its place. He then walked around his desk and carefully took his own seat. “Ahem.” He picked up a stack of papers that were sitting on the desk in front of him. “We just need to wait on…”

Just then the door opened. “Sorry we're late.” Christopher and Karen walked in and sat down next to Lucy.

Hal stood. “Christopher, Karen, I'm glad you're here, now we only need Mr. Bobby Ewing.”

“My dad won't be here, he and mom are on vacation in China.”

Hal sat back down. “Ah, the Orient, I'd love to be there myself.”

Michelle sighed impatiently. “Mr. Huprich, since everyone's here, do you think it would be possible to get on with the reading of the will.”

Hal attempted a professional smile, but only managed to look patronizing, which, he thought, was all this pushy woman deserved. “Of course, Ms. Stevens.” He cleared his throat once again. “The Last Will and Testament of Theodore Foster.”

Lucy couldn't help but grin “Theodore? I'll bet Todd hated that!”

Michelle responded, “Who cares, can we just get on with it?”

“Anxious for disappointment, are you?” Lucy snapped.

Hal looked up over his glasses at the group sitting before him. Michelle began to fire back a retort, but Hal interrupted. “Ladies, please. Now, if I may…” Turning the back of his chair to them, he opened up a cabinet in the wall to reveal a TV set. There was already a video in it. “It was Mr. Foster's wish to deliver his own will via video tape.”

A small smile crossed Lucy's face. That was just like Todd, finding a way to have the last word. Lucy's smile faded as his image filled the TV screen. Christopher put his arm reassuringly around her shoulders.

On the television, Todd was sitting a leather chair behind a large desk. Before he spoke, he took out a cigar and lit it. “Hey everyone. I really didn't want to make out a will just yet, but now that I'm a successful oilman who's worth millions, my attorney says I should have a will.” Todd turned to the camera as if he was about to share a secret. “What he doesn't know is that I plan on buying mortality.” Todd sat back in the chair again with the same cocky smile Lucy, Chris and Karen were so used to seeing.

Tears began streaming down Karen's cheeks. She had grieved for Todd and thought she had a grip on his death, but that was before she 'saw' him again.

On the TV, Todd continued. “I guess if you're looking at this, then I'm toast.” He stopped to take a drag on the cigar. “But don't take it too hard. I'm sure I had a great life.” He looked at the cigar. “Maybe I shouldn't smoke this while we talk, since it would be in really bad taste if I died from cancer.”

“Anyway, I'll cut right to the chase. I'm sure you all want to know what you get. I mean, how much fun can it be to sit around and listen to a dead guy. I'll just go in alphabetical order, that way none of you will really know who I liked the least. Well, one of you is an idiot if you don't know, but we'll get to that later. So here is… Bobby. What can I say; you were the first one in Dallas to listen to me and try to help me out. You have serious class. You also have everything in the world worth owning, which makes anything I could leave you look pretty lame. But there is a little something that I have that might come in handy someday if you ever need to put the smack down on a certain obnoxious relative. Since it doesn't exactly put me in the best light, instead of announcing it right here, I'll have my attorney give you the key to the safety deposit box I put it in.”

“Moving along… Christopher and Karen. You guys are the best. You probably know that in the beginning I wanted to be friends with you two to win some points with Bobby.” Todd grew serious. “But you guys turned out to be real friends.” He paused. “Enough of the serious stuff.” He looked straight in to the camera as if he were looking out and into the room. “Stop crying, Karen. You know I can't stand that.” Instead of calming Karen down, she began crying harder. Christopher put his other arm around her and pulled her close. “You two have just about everything too, but you have kids and from what I hear, the little rug rats can put the squeeze on the heftiest of bank accounts, so I have some stocks and bonds that might come in handy. You know, just a big mix of investments. Hell, I'm not even sure I know what they all are… but Hal will give you the info along with my broker's number. If nothing else, use them to put the kids through college. A mind's a terrible thing to waste, isn't it Auntie!” Todd laughed, obviously relishing in the idea that Michelle could be listening and he could insult her without giving her the satisfaction of retaliating.

Todd looked down at the notes he had lying on his desk and he suddenly became serious. “Lucy.” He said her name softly, almost wistfully then he looked up again, straight into the camera. Lucy leaned forward on the couch, suddenly feeling as though he were really there talking to her. He smiled. “My best… pal. I don't think I need to go into details, you know how I feel about you and neither one of us in into the mushy stuff. I do want to tell you something though, and I want you to listen good. You're better than you think you are, stronger and smarter too. And I have confidence in you, that's why I'm leaving April Oil to you.”

“Ah huh, ah huh, ah huh.” Michelle began to cough uncontrollably. Hal nervously buzzed his secretary and had her bring Michelle some water. Michelle caught her breath and glared at Lucy. She wondered how hard it would be to drive her out of April Oil… after all, Michelle had managed to steal Ewing Oil away from J.R. once, and this niece of his certainly couldn't play the game as well as J.R. did.

On the television, Todd had sat back in his chair quietly. After a few moments, he began again. “Now, if my sweet aunt is finished gagging, I'll remind her that April Oil is mine and mine alone. And I can leave it to whoever I want. So if you're thinking of giving Lucy any trouble, think again. It's hers and there's nothing you can do about it. But if you're foolish enough to try, I'm also leaving Lucy a key to a safe deposit box, which holds a little piece of, lets say, 'insurance' that will have you running all the way to California.” He sat up proudly, “'nough said.”

As for my personal belongings, Lucy, Chris, Karen, Bobby, you are welcome to whatever I didn't take with me! Whatever is left over, I'd like to be sold and the proceeds go to the Dallas animal shelter.” Michelle groaned, the little brat, what was he up too? Why was she asked to be here at all? He obviously wasn't going to leave her anything. “Last, and definitely least, Michelle Stevens, my loving aunt. Michelle, I've decided to be kind and generous and leave you the entire remainder of my estate. Of course, right now, that should include the lint in my jacket pockets and all of the dust balls under my bed!” Todd leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily. “Enjoy, auntie!” Then the TV went blank. Michelle stood up. “You little brat! Go ahead and laugh. We'll see who has the last laugh, though I don't think it'll be any contest, seeing as you're dead!” Chris and Hal both stood up. “Michelle!” “Ms. Stevens, please! I'm going to have to ask you to control yourself. After all, this is the reading of a will.” “This is no will! It's a joke.” She grabbed her purse and stormed out of the office. In the hallway, she ran into the receptionist, nearly knocking her flat. Lucy Ewing running my company! Ha! When pigs fly. You think you've had the last word, Todd Foster, but you had no idea who you were playing with. April Oil is going to be mine, and then we'll see who has the last laugh.

"Mr. Wendell! It's been a long time since we last saw you!"

"Yes, Dora Mae. It has been a while. Why don't you show me to the West Star table?"

"I was very sorry to hear about Mr. Wentworth, sir." Dora Mae offered.

Wendell smiled. "I'm sure that Wentworth will be fine. I'd like to go to my table now?"

Dora Mae smiled and sat Wendell at his usual table. Wendell enjoyed spending lunch by himself with a newspaper. Having to tolerate people while eating gave him indigestion.

As Jeremy turned to the business page, he saw mentions of Ewing Oil, Clifford Group, and some other nonsense. Wendell already had people on that. He was looking for something else, something to put his new Chairmanship of West Star in a good light.

That was when Carter McKay came up to the table, and sat down facing Wendell.

Jeremy looked up briefly.

"McKay. What brings you to my table today, uninvited and," he looked at McKay's clothes disdainfully, " underdressed?"

"Jeremy, don't give me that crap! I know all about how you got my West Star stock from me! All about it! Well, if you want a war, you'll have one."

McKay stood, and got closer and closer to Wendell's face as Wendell didn't blink, or let his smile fade.

"McKay, why don't you sit down?"

McKay's face was blood red. He slowly sat down, and Jeremy neatly folded his paper in front of him.

"McKay, you worked with the Ewings to send me to jail. You betrayed me, and managed to steal my company away from me. I don't imagine that you would possibly think that I like you."

"Your stooge, Dent, told it all to me, Jeremy. That's why I'm warning you."

"Warning me? Let me tell you something, McKay. I broke Ewing Oil once because of threats. If I can handle JR Ewing, handling you should be a piece of cake."

"I guess we'll see, won't we?" For the first time, McKay smiled. "Because I think that you have a lot more reasons to be scared of me than you did J.R."

"And why is that, McKay? Because you managed to luck your way into West Star? That tramp Cryder let you in because her idiotic father liked you. I guess it's because he raised trashy children, too." Wendell said as he sipped his ginger ale.

McKay rose quickly, and knocked the table over. He grabbed Wendell's throat and squeezed.

"YOU WANT TO DIE NOW, YOU MURDERING SNAKE? DO YOU? DON'T YOU EVER TALK ABOUT MY BOY! DO YOU HEAR ME???" he roared. Wendell pushed wildly, but McKay overpowered him. He felt lightheaded, and started to lose consciousness.

The Oil Baron's Club security came over and broke up the fight. Wendell shook off the lightheaded feelings, and slowly stood in front of the restrained McKay.

"You know, McKay…your temper is why you never got anywhere in life." He leaned into his ear, and whispered, "If you want a war, you'll have one."

He nodded to the security team, and they dragged a struggling McKay out.

"Oh, and McKay? Say hello to your son for me!" he called. McKay kicked even harder and almost broke free by the time they reached the elevator. He turned slowly, and glared at Wendell as the doors closed.

"My, if that wasn't fun", Wendell smirked as he rubbed his neck. "Dora Mae? I think I need a new table."

Wendell sat down, and dialed Stephen Dent on his cell phone. P> Dent picked up. "Hello?"

"Ah, Dent. Maybe you can tell me what McKay was telling me just now? Did you tell him about…the operation?"

"No, sir! I swear!" Dent sounded authentic enough to fool Wendell…for now.

"I had better never find out that you're lying, Dent. You're lucky that I know you need me to get elected dogcatcher in Texas. McKay was probably just trying to guess his way through things. He needs better people to check those things out for him, I'd say."

"Yes, sir." Dent's thoughts went back to his maiming of the cop the previous night.

"Dent, get in touch with the company secretary. I want an emergency board meeting right now. I have some plans I want to discuss with them."

"Yes sir.", Dent replied. The phone went dead in his ear. Dent hated that.

Dent went back to his desk, and read over the files he had on Jeremy Wendell, Vaughn Leland, and Carter McKay for a third time.

What in the hell did all these men have to do with each other?

“You're probably wondering why I wanted to have lunch with you after all this time,” Cliff said, as if he had read her mind. “Well, not only do I enjoy a meal with a special lady like you, but I've also got a favor for you...if you're willing.”

Here it comes... she said to herself. “How much money do you need, Cliff?” She asked, as she reached for her purse to get her checkbook.

“Oh...” Cliff said with a laugh, “I don't need money. I just need you to keep an eye on somebody for me.”

“That would've been my second guess,” Sue Ellen said. “What is J.R. up to now?”

“He blackmailed me into giving him the Magruder land, in exchange for bailing me out of my deal with Rex Wentworth...and, I think he plans on drilling it.” He explained.

“That's absurd, Miss Ellie would throw him out of the house if he started drilling next to Southfork.”

“Well, you'd think so, but that's not really what puzzles me. I owed millions of barrels of crude oil to the West Star refineries, and J.R. told me he'd cover it without even blinking an eye. Where is he getting the oil? Surely the majority of Ewing's output is already committed to your own refineries and clients, how can he afford to spare that much?” Cliff asked.

Sue Ellen thought. “Well, we do have Ewing 1 through 15 which have all but shut down until we need more crude...but there's no way they could produce the kind of oil you're talking about.” She closed her eyes, trying to think of other Ewing sources of unrefined oil. “Where is he getting it?”

“It beats me, but I just figured you might want to know...I figured he hadn't discussed this with you. It seemed pretty off-the-cuff when he came to see me.”

“Would you mind if I cut our lunch short? I'm sorry, Cliff, but I have some phone calls to make,” she said as she stood up.

“No problem, we can do it another day,” Cliff said. She smiled and made her way across the restaurant, as he quietly said to himself, “let's see how J.R. likes it when that little lady sees him at dinner.”

  He grabbed his briefcase, and walked through the doors, taking care not to collide with a man in a wheelchair who was being pushed out. He looked at the orderly who bumped into him, almost without concern, disdainfully.

  “Peasants.”, he muttered under his breath.

  Wendell walked to the desk, and asked where Rex Wentworth's room was. The nurse gave him some resistance, but after explaining it was of a sensitive nature relating to business, she caved in.

  Upon nearing Rex's room, three large men came close to him.

  “Sir, what is the nature of your business?” the largest asked.

  “My name is Jeremy Wendell. My business with Mr. Wentworth is a private matter concerning West Star Oil.”

  Wendell had no sooner said that than he saw Alyssa walking briskly down the corridor with a large smile on her face. Wendell mustered his best smile at her.

  “Jeremy! What are you doing here?” she asked in a mock serious manner. She pecked him on the cheek.

  Wendell gave her a brief hug. “Oh, you know me. Always trying to keep the boss informed.” He said with a pat to his briefcase.

  Alyssa grinned. “So shall we see him together?”

  “No, darling, I think not. I think this would be better if I handle it alone.”

  She pouted. “All right, Jeremy. I still get my lunch with you, right?”

  “You know it, Alyssa.”, he said and briskly turn to the main security man again. “So am I allowed in?”

  “Pending a briefcase check, sir.”, he said. Wendell opened his case, and showed the papers to the crew. “Very good, sir. Go on in.”

  Wendell winked to Alyssa and entered Rex's room, with a large grin at the sight that was in front of him.

  Wentworth was still on oxygen, but he was conscious.

  Rex shot a glare at Wendell. “Wend…ell. What…do…you…-“

  “Let me save you some breath, Wentworth. I'm here to discuss some business with you.”

  Rex's eyes were hard and cold toward Wendell as he said those words.

  “You see…Rex…until you're able to work again, I'm the temporary CEO of West Star Oil.” Wendell smirked as he noticed the broken man struggle to get up. “Here are some papers that outline your removal as Chairman and CEO.” He laid the papers next to Rex's food tray.

  “My, My. Always trying to get yourself hurt, aren't you, Rex? Back to what I was saying, I control West Star now, and I see that you're going to be gone for some time. Nasty thing; getting shot in a lung. So, you should know...I control the Board of Directors, and I'm making sure that the company grows, and that even when you do get better, that stock isn't going to help you.”

  Rex struggled to grab a nearby magazine, and made a great effort of trying to throw it at Wendell.

  “Oh, Wentworth, too little, too late. But don't worry. I wouldn't do anything that could hurt the company. That's why I'm making sure you stay in here for a while. It's been swell.”

  Wendell smirked as Rex fumed through his respirator.

  Alyssa was outside, talking to one of the guards. She quickly joined him, and they walked out to the main hallway, where a middle-aged man with a clipboard was waiting. Wendell smiled and shook his hand.

  “Doctor, what is Mr. Wentworth's status?”

  “Mr. Wendell, it is not good. Overall, he's conscious, and alert, but unfortunately, his lung is far too damaged for him to operate without a respirator. His arm is also very damaged. We had some of the best vascular surgeons in America perform surgery on his arm, but it's never going to be the same.”

  Alyssa spoke up. “So he's going to live?”

  “Yes, Ma'am. He's going to live, but he's going to be in severe pain every day of his life. Also, Mr. Wentworth is not going to be able to work for some time. We have medication that will help with the pain, but its going to obscure his judgment.”

  Wendell stood closer to the doctor, and handed him a large manila envelope.

  “That's the file I promised, doctor. You'll find all the information I said that would be in there. If Rex Wentworth leaves this hospital, or tries to resume his business affairs until I tell you otherwise, I'm sending copies of this file to the AMA and every member of your family. Are we clear?”

  The doctor gulped. “Yes, Mr. Wendell.”

  “Now I suggest you burn that file.” He nodded with a smile to the Doctor, and offered his arm to Alyssa.

  “So, Jeremy,” she said as they walked down the hall, “when do you want to set our wedding date?”

  “My dear, that's entirely up to you. Just as long as you're there.”, he said with a kiss.

  “Oh, you! I don't know what I'd do without you, Jeremy!”

  I know I'd be a lot happier without your chirping, he thought.

  “So, lunch?” she asked.

  “No, darling, I have to meet with Stephen Dent about something-“

  The ringing of Wendell's phone cut him off.

  It was his secretary. “Sir, I have a Mr. Vaughn Leland on the line? He says he'd like to speak to you.”

  Wendell's face was covered with a rare, sincere smile. “Vaughn Leland! Put him through.”

  Wendell and Vaughn were old friends. The two men rose through the ranks of the Dallas business community together, and Wendell hadn't spoken with him since around a week before that damned McKay and the Ewings had him arrested.

  “Vaughn? Yes…. good to hear from you too! Say, do you think we could…. your office? Today…I think so. Yes. You're where?” Wendell chuckled, and Alyssa was trying to figure out what was going on. “My goodness. I think I know someone that's just going to love that. So Thursday? Sounds good.”

  Wendell shut off his phone. “Well, darling, you heard it. Vaughn Leland has a proposal for me.”

“Jeremy, who's Vaughn Leland?”

  “Alyssa, your age is showing! Vaughn Leland used to be a major player in Dallas. He was one of the biggest bankers in the state, and then JR Ewing bankrupted him. Then, he came back, and put the screws to Ewing. Later on, he tried to break Cliff Barnes, but was cheated out of Barnes Wentworth...Barnes' first company. He and I go a long way back. ”

  “So what does he want with you?”

“He said he had a business proposal. And any time he's ever had a business proposal, it's been nothing but profitable.”

  On the other end of town, Vaughn Leland was smiling his oily grin as he looked to the man facing him in a large leather chair. His office was still not completely ready, but it was clearly operable for business.

  “You know, I sure missed Dallas. Makes me glad you had a project for me, and you gave me a chance to see ol' Jeremy again.”

  The man facing him only smiled.

Pam stepped out of the steaming tub, grabbed a large fluffy towel and began to dry off. The heat of the water seemed to help her aching muscles a little. She walked to the dressing area and selected a nightgown from the closet. She slid the silken material over her head, enjoying the cool feeling of it against her skin. Though most of the bruises were fading, she still felt tired and sore a lot of the time. Slipping a matching robe over her shoulders, she walked into the bedroom. Bobby was nowhere to be found. To her right, the billowing of the curtains that led to the balcony caught her attention. She walked through them and found Bobby standing there on the balcony. She walked up to him and slid her arms around him from behind.

Bobby placed his hand over hers. “Feeling better?”

“Mostly. Physically, I'm feeling better every day. But…” She hesitated.

He grasped her hand and brought her around to face him. “Pamela, you know, it's okay to not feel so good right now. No one would expect you – or me – to just get right back to normal. It takes time.”

Pam looked up and out at the vast darkness of the night sky. It made her feel so small. “I know, Bobby; I didn't expect it to be easy. It's just that I feel so… guilty.”

Bobby's brow furrowed. “Guilty?” He gently touched her chin and turned her face toward him so she was looking at him. “You don't have anything to feel guilty about. None of this was your fault. You couldn't help what happened.”

“It's not that. As much as I long for him, I know I couldn't help what happened to B.J.”

“Then what is it?”

“It's just that I'm still grieving for our son, but I'm so happy Savannah survived. She's so perfect and getting stronger everyday. Sometimes I look at her and I can hardly believe any of it really happened. Then it all comes rushing back and I feel awful for even having those feelings when we've lost B.J.”

Bobby nodded his head in understanding. “I feel that way too, sometimes. But we shouldn't feel guilty for loving Savannah and being grateful she pulled through. None of that will bring B.J. back – or help us heal.”

Pam nodded through silent tears and Bobby pulled her close. “At least we have Gracie and Savannah – and each other. I don't know what I would have done if I'd have lost you.”

Those words resonated in the back of Pam's mind. They rose up out of a fog as if long forgotten. 'I don't even want to know what Bobby would do without you now.' the words were there, but the voice she remembered was unfamiliar. She shrugged off the odd feeling that had come with the memory and snuggled closer to Bobby.

“Come on, let's go inside.”

Pam looked up and was glad to see the slight smile in his eyes. She smiled softly back at him and simply nodded her head, before kissing him softly. He returned her kisses and she slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Their desire arose not only out of love, but from a deep need to feel closer to each other at that moment, to leave the grief and guilt behind and feel alive and loved.

As they walked back into their room, Pam said, “… Bobby, first I want to…”

They both finished the sentence together. “…check on the girls.”

Bobby steered her toward the door that connected their room to Gracie, Savannah's. The two girls were sleeping in the bedroom and an around the clock nurse was sleeping in the sitting room. “I'm coming with you. Who knows, they might have grown since we saw them.”

Pam chuckled. “Since an hour ago?”

The reply that came to Bobby's mind was that every moment was precious; instead, he said, “You know how weeds grow.” It wasn't really funny, but they both laughed anyway.

Gracie and Savannah were fast asleep. As usual, Gracie had kicked off all of her covers and was lying sideways across the bed. Pam smiled and kissed her on the cheek; then Bobby gingerly picked her up and laid her down with her head on her pillow, then he kissed her on the forehead before joining Pamela beside Savannah's crib. They both stayed there for a long time just staring down at the tiny baby, each lost in their own thoughts. United in their grief for their baby boy, yet knowing that eventually, each would have to find their own path to healing.

Of course, he brought along a bodyguard; just in case. He had the upper hand on Wentworth now and had no intention of losing it.

He looked at his watch again. Three o'clock? he asked himself? Yes, that had been what they had said. So where was this 'important delivery'?

Then, from a distance he could hear the sound of a helicopter, and as he looked into the sky, he determined that it was, indeed, flying in. The logo on the chopper let him know it was, of all people, J.R. Ewing.

He waited impatiently for it to land, and when it did, he watched as J.R. emerged, with a smile plastered on his face. “Wendell, I understand you're back in the saddle at West Star,” he called out.

“That's right,” Wendell answered, “it's too bad about Rex's accident, though; I'm sure you feel the same way.”

“Oh, of course,” J.R. said, going along with it. “But if it wasn't for Rex Wentworth, I wouldn't be here talking with you now.” He looked past Wendell to the desert behind them. It had been an unusual season, considering there had been an ice storm just weeks earlier, and now the temperature made their brief conversation almost unbearable.

“What do you mean?” Wendell asked. “What delivery am I supposed to be waiting for?”

“Well,” J.R. began, “since your tenure of chairman has just begun, let me fill you in: that idiot Barnes signed a deal with Rex where he had to deliver millions and millions of barrels of unrefined crude to his personal company before...today. And even though Eric got him through with the first delivery, the rest of it is due today, and Barnes, of course, doesn't have it. But I do, and it'll be here any minute.

“You're helping out Barnes?” He asked. “Why?”

“Because there are only two people in this world I hate more than him, and I'm talking to one of them. And though sometimes I feel like he was sent by God just to annoy the hell out of me until I die, every once and a while he's useful, and now is one of those times.”

The sound of a semi truck honking its horn could be heard from the horizon. “Is that the shipment?” Wendell asked as he turned to watch the location of the sound.

“You betcha, right on time,” J.R. answered as he started heading back to the helicopter. “So, Wendell, I suggest you had better start finding a use for all that oil...who knows, with what's going on in the Middle East, you couldmake a killing on cheap gasoline. Or, you could store it until the price of oil goes up...but even West Star can't afford to sit on that much oil for too long!” He laughed. “Oh, and don't forget to write a nice fat check to Cliff Barnes, for being such a gentleman and getting you your oil on time. And if I were you, I'd consider getting a second bodyguard,” he said as he looked at the silent man standing next to Wendell, “because if they shot Rex Wentworth, there's no telling what your board might have in mind for you…”

As he climbed back in to the helicopter, truck after truck began pulling up to the loading dock and unloading. Wendell stared at them blankly and muttered, “So J.R. Ewing wants a war too, well, he's got one.”

CREDITS ROLL

This episode was written by Konnia Allen, Matt Becker, Travis Bowden, and Justin Stiles.